


Bring me a dream

by Caivallon



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, at least a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caivallon/pseuds/Caivallon
Summary: Freddie is pining. And the only reason he’s acknowledging this is because he’s a grown and self-aware man.Heispining.It’s ridiculous and embarrassing and he would rather not, but it’s the way it is.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Mitch Marner
Comments: 12
Kudos: 150





	Bring me a dream

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm spamming this tag for the last couple of weeks... But what can I say, they are too cute together? Although this is probably the last story about these two for a while, someone else has to take over, please ^.^
> 
> [ **Alyssa** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardiac_arrest/pseuds/cardiac_arrest) was so patient to deal with my punctuation mistakes again, especially with my love for semicolons. Thank you my dear, I aim to be better next time! 
> 
> This is not the story I wanted to write, I just went with the flow. It's also not my best work, but I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it.
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/232OnTS)  
> 

**Bring me a dream**

Freddie is pining. And the only reason he’s acknowledging this is because he’s a grown and self-aware man. 

He _is_ pining. 

It’s ridiculous and embarrassing and he would rather not, but it’s the way it is. In his defense, it’s not like he’s wallowing in self-pity or lying awake at night. At least not often. At least not until this season had started two months ago. 

Since then… it has maybe become a little problem. A little problem with fluffy dark hair, a too-big smile, and soft warm skin. 

A little problem that is currently sleeping on his couch and looking even more cuddly and adorable than usual. A little problem he can’t tear his eyes from right now, no matter how guilty and creepy it makes him feel. But normally Freddie doesn’t get to see Mitch like this: unmoving and peaceful— unaware. It’s mesmerizing.

Curled around one of the pillows and legs tucked in against his body, Mitch looks smaller and even younger than this morning when he showed up unannounced at Freddie’s door. It wasn’t really a surprise since it wasn’t the first time he dropped in on the way back from walking Zeus; always _conveniently_ around the time Freddie pressed the button on the coffee maker. 

This morning, Mitch brought donuts that were definitely not on their nutrition plans—not that Mitch ever cared. This morning, he didn’t leave after they had breakfast together. He followed Freddie downstairs to the basement gym, and then again to his apartment where he showered in the guest bathroom and put on the clothes Freddie had offered him. 

Mitch never left and Fredder never asked why. He’s selfish, likes Mitch too much to care about the answer. Likes him too much to deny himself the chance of having him for himself. 

Together they walked Zeus in the afternoon and then again at night before they queued up some episodes of a series that Freddie is watching. And now Mitch is asleep next to him and Freddie gave up any pretense of watching TV long ago.

His hair is messy and his cheeks are rosy and he smiles softly— as if he’s dreaming about something nice. He looks vulnerable and beautiful, and Freddie knows his little problem will no longer be little anymore. 

This isn’t the night he falls in love with Mitch Marner. This is the night he realizes that this happened a long time ago and so slowly that he didn’t even notice. 

He goes to bed because staring at Mitch and pining for something that he can never have is painful. Freddie doesn’t hate himself enough to do that. 

-

But he dreams of Mitch. It’s not the first time, not even the _first_ time, it’s a dream that makes it impossible to look himself in the eyes when he’s brushing his teeth the next morning. But it’s the first time he wakes up with his hands around his cock, leaking everywhere and unable to stop himself, unable to stop the images that are still flashing behind his closed eyelids while he strokes himself. Mitch with him, in bed with him, here, under the covers and naked. Beautiful and flushed, moaning Freddie’s name while he writes underneath him. His long legs spread wide to welcome him, so that Freddie can kiss him, kiss that too big smile and that too sinful mouth that tastes of gingerbread donuts. Kiss his way downward, over the breakable collarbones and ribs, suck on the pale neck and tease the little nipples until they are hard and perky and Mitch a needy mess, begging him… to leave marks all over his chest, lick over his stomach; to take him in his mouth and fuck him. And in his dream Freddie did and Mitch welcomed him so perfectly— tight and hot and mindblowing, arching his back against him, heels digging into the back of Freddie’s thighs as if he never wanted him to stop. As if he loved being filled up with Freddie. As if he would die if Freddie didn’t come inside him. 

In his dream everything was Mitch’s skin and touch, everything was his voice and his taste and their want. 

Freddie didn’t realize that he turned around, that he’s thrusting into his fist, and into the mattress, that he can hardly breathe until he comes so hard that he almost blacks out, comes so much in his boxers that he knows tissues won’t be enough to clean it. 

-

When he wakes up the next morning, Mitch is lying next to him. Underneath the duvet because Mitch Marner isn’t familiar with the concept of respecting someone’s personal space and privacy, and even if he is, he neglects it all the time. 

He’s not naked, but he _is_ very beautiful and Freddie is very aware of how wrong it is. But he can’t look away and last night he already crossed so many boundaries that it won’t matter anymore. 

His little problem has become huge; undeniable and unacceptable. And he has to solve it. Will solve it. 

Later. 

_Now_ he’ll have this, at least until Mitch wakes up. 

Until then, he can look. Can admire the relaxed and happy smile on Mitch’s face, because he’s even happy when he sleeps. Can carefully trace his eyebrows with his fingertips and follow the long lashes that are dark against his skin. Can tease the plush lips with a barely-there touch until they twitch and he has to force himself to stop because he doesn’t want Mitch to wake up from his undoubtedly good dream. 

The light in his room is winter cool and makes Mitch’s skin paler than it really is. Pale enough to notice the freckles that only appear when Mitch’s summer tan has started to fade; they are light brown and almost ashen on his eyelids. Freddie hates that they will soon disappear too. But he loves that he knows all these details even though it’s another indication that his pining has to stop. 

He can’t even remember looking at anything else, doesn’t even check his phone. It’s the last time he gets to have this and he’s not strong enough to deprive himself of this. 

So apparently he _does_ hate himself; because distancing himself from Mitch will be so much more painful after this. 

When Mitch finally stirs beside him, it still feels too soon, too sudden, because Freddie hasn’t engraved all the ways the scattered light illuminates his features, hasn’t memorized the precise color of the skin below his eyes, or the rich texture of his hair that is now just long enough to cover his face. 

When Mitch finally stirs beside him, Freddie knows that he should avert his gaze, that he should fake being asleep, because what he’s doing is probably considered as creepy in everybody’s world except Mitch Marner’s. Because Mitch Marner climbed into his bed this night, and Mitch Marner is probably the vainest creature on earth without ever being vain at all. He loves attention, loves being the center of the room, of any room he’s ever been in. So he doesn’t. 

Look away.

Instead he savors the moment: the flutter of Mitch’s lashes before he opens his eyes, the unwilling curl of his lips, the little groan because of the sudden light. Freddie thinks it’s adorable— like almost everything Mitch does. Even more adorable when he finds Freddie next to him and starts to smile. Not the wide and obnoxious grin he usually gets when Mitch shows up at his doorstep or they meet at the rink; a small one, thoughtful and soft… as if he likes what he sees. Almost a bit unbelieving and insecure… as if he’s aware that he crossed boundaries. 

They look at each other, not speaking; not daring to destroy the fragility, the tenderness of these minutes with words. Mitch’s eyes are less blue, almost grey, but not less beautiful and Freddie asks himself if someone ever noticed this before him. Selfishly hopes that no one did. Hopes that Mitch finds something in his own face that stops him from looking away. 

If Freddie holds his breath he’s not aware of it. If his blood throbs in his ear he’s not hearing it. If his heart beats fast inside his chest he’s not feeling it. 

And then Mitch’s nose suddenly twitches and he sneezes; once and then again and again. It breaks the tension between them so that Freddie can finally breathe. 

“Well… that was—” Mitch stops himself. “Good morning I guess?“

“Good morning.“ It’s hard to not smile when Mitch is looking like this: confused and cute with his hair all messy and in his eyes. He’s still wearing the sweater Freddie lent him yesterday, way too big on him, wrists almost delicate when he fumbles with the blanket and sits up. 

Freddie tries not to stare at his number on Mitch’s chest— something he could do openly the night before when Mitch was dozing off next to him on the couch, but now it’s just a reminder of what he can’t have. He sits up as well and leans against the headboard. 

“What… I mean, what are you doing here, Mitch? If the couch was uncomfortable you could’ve slept in the guestroom.” Freddie sighs. 

“But the guestroom doesn’t have you.” 

Somehow this tastes wrong in his mouth; bitter. Like anger, like annoyance. Mitch’s little pout that used to be adorable, doesn’t help, ignites the sting in his guts.

“Yeah but you can’t just come to my bed, you can’t just decide this because you want to. I’m… I’m not Patty or Marty.”

“I know, but—“

“You can’t just… I dunno, latch onto the next older guy on the team because you miss them.”

Freddie knows that his words are cruel, that he’s hurting Mitch because he can see the pain and sadness all over his face, but he doesn’t care. Not right now. Not when he’s hurting too. 

“That’s not… that’s selfish, Mitch. You can’t just do what you want. Do you ever think about what others want? Or how _they_ feel?”

Maybe Freddie went too far, maybe he’s regretting this soon. But it’s better— will be better; for him and Mitch. Because Freddie wants this too much; them, together in bed. Because Freddie’s thoughts are not innocent like Patty‘s or Marty’s; he thinks about pressing Mitch into the mattress and putting his mouth all over him instead of cuddling and comforting him.

Because Freddie has been pining for Mitch since he met him; but now he’s falling in _love_ with him. 

Mitch blinks, and the expression on his face is almost terrible to watch. Shock and something that could be heartbreak. Never before has Freddie seen him so unhappy, so sad— not even after game seven against the Bruins this spring. He doesn’t cry, he never cries but his eyes are huge— the grey is gone now, left them all blue and wide. His lower lip trembles when he tries to speak, and his voice sounds as sad as Mitch looks; just a low whisper, raspy from sleep and hidden tears. 

“But I— I thought you _liked_ me.”

It costs a lot of Freddie’s willpower to not reach out and brush his fingers over that soft bluish skin under Mitch’s eyes or under his chin to tilt his head up. Seeing Mitch sad is just wrong. Seeing Mitch sad because of something he did, is even more wrong. 

“I like you, Mitch. That is the problem. I don’t like you just enough to be _just_ your friend.“ Freddie pronounces the words carefully, hopes that Mitch finally gets it. That he would just get out of his bed and leave. That he would forget about it and be normal around Freddie again. 

So that Freddie could forget about it and get over it. 

“But I—” Mitch’s face is suddenly close, his expression so vulnerable and hopeful. And Freddie can’t look away. 

“But I don’t want to be _just_ your friend, Fred… I really like you. Not because I need another Patty or Marty. I don’t want another Patty or Marty. I want a _Fred_. I want you.” 

So hopeful that Freddie can’t forget about it. 

“I like _like_ you.” 

And then he leans in and presses his mouth to Freddie’s; warm and soft and so very sure. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Making it the easiest thing in the world to reply the kiss. 

-

Freddie pictured kissing Mitch many times, imagined how his mouth would feel, how good and satisfying it would feel to kiss that wide smile, to kiss and soak up Mitch’s happiness. But he was wrong all those times. Because everything is better in reality. 

__

Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/).


End file.
